oh my god they’ve got angels sweatin’ like h*ll, it’s workin’ their little halos to the bone combing them deserts my figure eight knotted lifeline defined traffic the way my schoolin’ end-less-ly defined every day one exquisite fitted crisis rivets an octagon of red to the ceiling above my bed it’s not a conversation piece, like public spectacles unleashed more of a clue so when i wake up to the rains i’ll be one step ahead of you i slide like kodakrome [?] wrote a poem for every planet tracked their mileage from the sun in an envelope licked it, stamped it got eight thank yous in the mail, but nine planets means there’s one left only the earth would thank me later with a breath taking sunset (man, i’m just a b*m) zip that waterfall around your skeleton tell it to boil loyalties, the shovel in the soil dig it, i split my lip kissing the winter nursed the blister in the sun strung a hammock between spring and where the willows turn to blood might of worked sip a little, litter it, love it without big beetles trying to sell him sunflower seeds by the bucket might of, tugboat for the boxcutter above those ashes without hot air balloons floatin’ their four p*ssenger baskets and i’m asking you to let a captive lacerate a caption splash out m*ssive apolster plastic gl*sses with famine patches i-dentify all saints linked around the fountain’s warmth and for a second taste of pain when removing that crown of th*rns[?] born hostile, pacifist huddled in subtle m*s*ch*st stamp the blame on [?] my fire escape overlooks ghost town market place artists bought out p*sses then fast themselves to the target’s face you’re killin’ me

if i had a hammer, i’d build a city on stilts so my feet would stay dry when god’s wine gl*ss tilts

if i had a shovel, i’d dig a hole in the dirt and i’ll be hiding when his drunken stupor lands upon earth

and if your little wing is broken i’ll see the poacher in h*ll i can’t afford another [?] in a cell my carousel mimics the interests of a thousand leaking spickets and a colony of graziers raised to justify the grimace (and yes i read the treaty) i prescribe the remedy plus the premises my pin cushion, my limbs pushin’ the knitting needle evils, idle, peddle past the greeting where the sleepers feed the cycles stop, watch the eagles board the little engine that could not ghost in a sh*ll and it fell in my lap p*ssin’, postin’ the bail but the guard has misplaced the key ring (that’s wonderful) i lead a flee to blaze exact songs directly into the village power supply burning the bridge between the magnet and my eye now how many cadavers satisfy a mad man? and how many crooked samaritans turn plesantville to bad land? i can count my own dusty nickels with you laughing about you’ll turn my poor *ss ebony and navy with cane lashings (well, you’re right) grip your pointed stick, incite your riot i’ll sell your worth in a bottle at profit, explain my bias atomic box cult, downward spiral rapidly cast to h*ll with hate mail, forged christ’s autograph laughed itself, drastic catastrophe biting my lip skin and bones, stringent bingin’ on rancid baits mummified well inside a muddy new york minute was it your remnants my smoke rings have coc**ned prior to fading? well, it wasn’t conscious spite but it might have been that

i am not your friend anymore my arrow head dissertation [?] when narrow bed sleepers occupy the bas*m*nt and i am not your friend anymore come the dawning of [?] in your pity blend that whispers in the wind

man, if it were only that simple i’d add a guilt frame to [?] i’d board myself inside my room to trace the wilting contour one petal falls to the rug, she loves me not town crier lugging a boom box with spirit plugs and a red radio flyer tied to irony like twenty burning igloos with a sailors knot fiddler crabs build sandcastles while high tide off azalea crops in the icicle field i portray, cats get antsy and ask ‘why if every light is dark do i continue dancing?’

why if every light is dark do i continue dancing?

why if every light is dark do i continue dancing?

why if every light is dark do i continue dancing? well if it ain’t finally a question that’s worth answering

i boogie for the raindrops for the purity, the anger for my childhood recollections for the comic book in my heart the mocked intentions the clarity, p*ssion, seclusion those cool summer nights for the mark emerging across the street selling me stog’s at half price for the mights, the maybes, the nauseating pitfall my girl, my friends for the fact my window opens towards a brick wall for the three legged dog i saw dragged on a leash for the homeless man who walks my block in rainstorms with plastic bags on his feet see i throw away the tenders over one shoulder and walk across broken gl*ss through every wicked world to kiss tomorrow’s morning not for nothing you’ll drown in a pool of your crooked morals whispering ‘maybe aesop rock was on to something’